The Marauders Epic
by Sierra K
Summary: MWPP takes Hogwarts by storm! A piece by piece saga of their friendships, hardships, loves, losses and hilarious pranks! A cameo for all reviewers good, bad, & ugly. Prank ideas more than welcome! Spoilers & Foreshadowing. CHAPTERS 1, 2, & 3 REVISED!
1. Chapter 1: Remus

REVISED October 16, 2007

A huge shout-out and thank you to Red, you're as wonderful as you are sexy ;) and talented, and busty, and sweet, and creative…….. did I mention you're hot? (she's a big blusher, it's howls)

I dedicate this to every Marauders fan out there. While I am making an attempt at being as cannon as possible and would love it if you'd point out where I'm messing up my cannon-isms please note that this is a work of fiction in which I am taking a few liberties.

**The Maurauders Epic: The Marauders and the Rumored Truth**

_**Chapter 1:**__ As Long as No One Knows_

Remus John Lupin sat on his porch. The air was heavy and dank, a breeze carried a brief respite, picking up a fresh dewy scent from the nearby lake before dieing off. Slight for his age Remus wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. He could smell his father, that sharp clean mint scent that trailed him everywhere. John Lupin was inside the house, making his way between the parlor and the kitchen. Remus' mouth twitched up into a tiny grin as his heard the shift of weight; his father doubled back towards the kitchen for another round of pacing.

The small, rough bench Remus sat on was not uncomfortable. His view of his fathers' acreage was fading with the sunlight. Another swift breeze stole past him carrying the scent of the cattle from the barn, the draft horses, and the goats. He'd grown used to the smells of farm life, ever since he and his father had moved 'away from the city noise'. Remus shook his head, he'd been so excited to move when he was six, the idea had put him into such a state at that age that he'd tried packing up all his belongings that very instant. That was before his mother took half of everything.

He only received birthday cards from his mother now. She'd chat about her life, her new job, her new husband, her new kitten. Her new, normal Muggle life. She'd tell him about how much she missed him and about how he should come for a visit- about how she'd apply for the papers that would allow him to travel alone. Remus didn't answer her letters, he kept them all in a box with his pictures of her, tucked away in the hayloft.

Sitting on his porch, away from people, away from 'the city noise', safe from stares he received when he went to a wizarding town with his father, he felt alone. He remembered the last look he'd seen in his mother's eyes. She'd been detached, afraid, as if her baby boy would turn on her, maul her, turn her into a monster. He remembered her bitter tears, her talk of beasts needing to be raised with 'their kind'. Remembering her, her reaction to him, to his curse- he remembered why it was better to be alone.

He remembered his fathers' words, spoken urgently, softly to his mother. Before either of them realized his heightened senses, his sharp hearing, they'd argue outside his doorway. For months they fought, threatened, pleaded with each other to give in, give up, leave, stay, understand, fight back and choose. At last his father had said simply: He wasn't a monster before, he hasn't changed, my Remmy is still a sweet, gentle-spirited boy. If you can't see that, then _you're_ the monster. He'd never seen his mother again, after that.

Remus tried to live up to his father's words, trying to prove him right. When the Wolf reared its head once a month he tried to contain it, reel it in, tried to keep the part of him named 'Remus' above the blood lust of the Wolf.

The Wolf turned four today.

Remus glanced at the little table beside his bench. The gift from Warren was there. Of course he'd signed it Romolus, it was a joke between them. As promised Remus wouldn't open the gift till the time it had happened, that was the rule. As twins, bitten on the same night by the same wolf, they shared more than a curse. They'd met at St. Mungo's the night after the bite. The two boys were contained together, to make them easier to find, control, and to help the parents make the right decision.

Remus had come awakened from his doze to hear: Let him go, it's better this way.

He'd opened his eyes slowly, the wizard, one of the officials from the ministry Remus recognized from the night before, stood at the foot of his bed facing his parents. His deep voice sounded so sure, so confident. Remus knew what had happened. He'd been bitten.

"I can't give that monster my son." John Lupin looked like a small man at that moment. His voice was barely above a whisper, his unshaven face looked dirty. Remus could smell the sharp tang of blood and saw it smeared all over his father's robes.

"You can't do this alone, John," the official had said, "he'll be too dangerous."

His mother stood trembling, her arms wrapped around herself. A shawl draped over her thin shoulders. Her tear streaked face held a look of stunned disbelief; she rocked herself slowly, back and forth murmuring to the floor "my baby, my baby…"

John Lupin grabbed his wife's hand; that was the last time Remus ever saw them touch. "No one is taking him anywhere. Tell Greyback no."

His father had eventually chosen Remus over his wife.

Coyotes yipped in the distance. Remus lifted his nose, and without consciously deciding to determined that a mother and father coyote were taking their nearly mature young out to hunt. He was glad that the full moon was still a ways away and the urge to hunt the coyote family wasn't strong enough to make him salivate. Remus tried to return his attention inward, as hurtful as memories were, confronting his instincts was worse.

He glanced at his watch, 8 p.m. he had 19 minutes. The sky seemed bare and empty. He knew that tonight was the new moon and he wouldn't see it at all, at least that was a small blessing, the moon held no sway over him tonight, it couldn't sit in the silence of the heavens above him and goad him into giving into his animalistic nature.

His forehead creased into frown, the melodrama he'd recently acquired from his reading choices left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn't interested in turning into someone who felt sorry for themselves.

He didn't ask to be bitten.

He looked at his watch again it was 7 minutes past 8. He knew that this was the exact moment four years ago the Fenrir Greyback gave into his curse and transformed. He'd heard it rumored that it took Greyback no time to transform at all, that because of Fenrir's delight at becoming the Wolf he simply let it take him and didn't fight it – like most other werewolves.

Remus didn't know if that was true or not, he'd be transforming now for four year, that was 47 changes, he'd fought long, hard, and fruitlessly during each full moon. He'd sworn that he would never give in to his wolf without a fight- he would never become what had bitten him.

8:10, his mother would have let out her first scream as Greyback had charged into the house, tearing the door from it's hinges. He'd marked his territory, the stench of his urine reeking through the house. His father fired a spell that bounced off of Greyback as if he'd never tried. Fenrir had bounded up the stairs.

By 8:12 Remus knew there was something wrong. In a fit of six-year-old panic he'd started to cry, his toothbrush forgotten on the floor. He'd run for his parents bedroom. He never made it.

At 8:15 Fenrir was towering over his little body. He could clearly remember the joyful happy look in Greyback's eyes. His body was wracking in sobs, he screamed for his mother.

He remembered his parents pleading with the Wolf. Begging for him not to hurt Remus, he vaguely remembered his father making promises, offering money. He remembered Greyback looking at his parents while keeping Remus trapped under his big heavy paw.

Greyback didn't bother watching him as he tore into his chest, he locked eyes with his parents.

It was 8:19 when the infection hit his bloodstream. He shook till he was sick, he beat his head off the floor, he scratched at his wounds till the blood flowed more freely. Greyback escaped through the window, his parents only stared in horror at him.

Sweating Remus wrenched himself from his memories and shut them away the best he could. He glanced at his watch, 8:12, he wished this was one time he could speed up the clock. He found it fascinating how he could remember things faster than they happened – it seemed so inconsistent how his six year old self recollected the events of that night in such vivid detail, how seconds felt like hours but when he remembered the events the memories flew by.

He picked up the parcel from Reid. Inside the envelope signed Romolus was a picture. It was of the two of them, as six year old boys, they were laid up in bed still, Remus with his bandages around his chest and Reid still with his leg in a sling. They were both smiling, their faces filthy with something purple one of the nurses had given them. Remus couldn't help but smile as he and his wolf-brother giggled at the camera and made silly, messy faces.

The picture had been taken before their first change, before they'd understood the gravity of their new disease, before their lives had changed forever. The letter from Reid was bright and cheery; it wished Remus happiness and shared stories of mischievous gallivanting.

The second letter was of a different nature. This one was on Hogwarts stationary, in the headmasters' own hand. Remus didn't know what to make of this opportunity. To feel normal, to be offered a place at Hogwarts like any other wizard his age, like his father had been offered; it felt wonderful. Remus couldn't help but to be wary, could he keep his secret? That would be 71 transformations on Hogwarts grounds.

He shook his head, the worst that could happen if he was found out was to be expelled and exposed. His father was no longer part of the wizarding community so he wouldn't lose his job… Newly appointed Headmaster Dumbledore would more than likely lose his position. Remus could be putting all of his fellow students at risk. But this was _Hogwarts_ this was the greatest opportunity he'd probably ever be offered….

The letter from the Headmaster was complete with assurances of safety precautions to put his mind at ease about his condition. His father had called up Madame Malkins and ordered him robes already. Remus had his wand from a little shop in France where he and his father had vacationed between transformations and harvesting. But could he do it?

He'd been overjoyed at first, elated. His father had cried and written a thank you letter 10 feet long to Dumbledore, he'd spent money they didn't have on supplies and books for Remus. Remus hadn't said no but the weight of the pressure to keep secret was so heavy he could barely get of out bed some days.

_What if someone found out?_

Sitting outside his house, watching the fading sun set, he checked his watch: 8:25, his Wolf was 4. He set his jaw, this was one thing the Wolf would not take from him, he would do this for Remus and Remus alone.

He had just to make sure that no one found out.

_SKM_

Everyone who reviews receives a picture of a silly jelly smeared werewolf!


	2. Chapter 2: Sirius

REVISED October 16, 2007

Dedicated to Marauders Fans everywhere! Please review, creative criticism is welcome. As soon as characters are set up, we'll be going to Hogwarts where the Mischief Begins!

**The Maurauders Epic: The Marauders and the Rumored Truth**

_**Chapter 2:**__ Chance to Change_

Sirius Black sat outside the Malfoy manor. It was a brisk night and his robes weren't as warm as the price tag would have suggested they'd be. Music floated out to linger with him and he sighed wishing it would go away. Clinking glasses filled with expensive champagne and petty laughter drifted out from between the French glass doors that exposed the Malfoy ballroom to the chill night. No one inside seemed to mind the cold.

"Rain."

Sirius jumped and spun around. His grinning cousin winked at him as she sat down beside him on the bench. Andromeda looked so confident, so at ease among their relatives, Sirius never could tell what she was thinking. Andromeda's eyes wandered the exquisitely manicured lawn and gardens for a moment before settling back to him. Her finger pointed to the sky, "It looks like it's going to rain." She clarified.

"Good," He answered, knowing he sounded huffy, "let it."

She tisked him twice, "If it rains, you'll have to come inside and be social."

He frowned, she was always pointing out how irrational he was, how he 'wore his heart on his sleeve'. He pulled at his green neck tie instead of answering her, staring at his new glossy black shoes.

"What was it like?" he asked suddenly, before he could figure out where he wanted to take the conversation he'd just started. He didn't even know why he'd asked. That was always happening to him, his mouth opened before his brain decided what was going to come out of his mouth.

"I'm going to assume you're talking about my being in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin? What was it like coming home to disappointed parents?"

He nodded dumbly, grateful that she didn't ask him to explain, that she let him run his mouth and didn't ask him to clarify. He knew if she had asked he'd have retracted the question with a shrug and left it at that, his parents were always telling him how stupid his questions were, how only idiots and Muggles never understood their own words.

"Well," Andromeda started, "they weren't happy, but they understood that knowledge and an open mind meant more to me than power. They became a little more accepting when they saw that my grades were above average and that I was happy…" she trailed off, her eyes unfocused. "I don't think you'll be that lucky, Sirius."

"Nothing I do makes them happy. It's always 'Regulus, Regulus, Regulus' anyway. This will be one more time I disappoint them, hell I may just wind up stopping mum's heart if I get into Gryffindor."

"You'd be the first Black ever, if you think you've got it rough now, just wait if that's where you want to be."

Sirius nodded again, his bravado was slowly filtering away, leaving behind an ugly net of doubt. "They'd burn me off the family tapestry. Kick me out with nowhere to go. I'd be destitute forever."

Andromeda looked like she wanted to nod her head but didn't. "You're smart, you'll probably wind up with me in Ravenclaw, wouldn't that be fun?" she smiled at him and his good mood resurfaced like crocuses in spring.

They sat in silence, each lost in thought. Sirius started when an elf, barely clothed rushed over to them carrying a full tray of candies, pastries, sweetmeats, and champagne. "So sorry sir & ma'am Dobby did not see you sitting out here! Dobby swears that Dobby would have brought refreshments sooner had Dobby seen you here!"

Andromeda took a glass of champagne while Sirius reached for the bowls of candies. "No problem, mate." Sirius grinned a little at the elf. "Don't worry about it."

Dobby the elf bowed, the tray tipping precariously, before scurrying off back toward the house. Sirius watched him go wishing Kreacher was a little more friendly, it was no fun to tease Kreacher, but it seemed like Dobby would be a fun target for a good prank.

"I'm scared I'm going to screw up." Sirius whispered to his cousin as she sipped her champagne. His eyes found his shoes again, and for some reason a knot grew in his throat. His vision became misty, blurring his laces; his face heated in shame. He knew if he moved, if he looked up, he'd cry. He didn't want to be weak, didn't want to cry, not here.

Andromeda made no move to console him, she didn't touch him, she sat back, suddenly very comfortable and shrugged her black silk clad shoulders. "You're going to."

His eyes cleared instantly, his blotchy face felt itchy, he searched her face for any trace of a smile. He couldn't find one.

She looked at him, her big blue eyes meeting his, "Sirius," she gave him a small lopsided smile, "we all screw up, I screwed up. You know that nothing you do is going to salvage what your parents think of you, how they choose to see you. That's them, don't let their opinion run your life, or send you into a house where you don't belong." Her brow creased, her beautiful blue eyes turning down in the corners as she spoke, her voice soft but unforgiving. "This isn't about them, yes this party is all about 'choosing to be pure' and 'following the traditions of your blood' but if that's not _you_ don't let it consume you. You're so scared of getting it wrong, of being someone that your parents will hate, that you're no-one." His heart leapt, he couldn't be _no-one;_ he couldn't _not matter_. He was too young, too strong, too _damned smart_ to have already counted for nothing- to have the rest of his lift count for nothing. He wouldn't, _couldn't_, let that happen.

Andromeda kept pushing, Sirius was so caught up in her words he forgot to breath, his lungs constricting, his gut tight and sour, and still she kept on. "You'll never be what they want you do be, they can't turn you into Regulus no matter how much they threaten you. You'll never be _you_ at this rate either, though. You're going down a road that's going to make you very unhappy. I was hoping by now you'd realize that you need to make _you_ happy, because _no one_ in _this_ family cares if you're happy, they only care that their name isn't smeared." Andromeda was searching for something deep in his soul. He could almost feel her presence inside him, boring into his _being_, searching fruitlessly. "It's not going to be easy, but you have to be brave enough to face what's going to come your way, or choose to do as you're told and face the consequences."

_Consequences_; that was a word he's never thought of using to describe his actions before. He considered what it would be like to have consequence over himself, who he was and what he wanted. His actions at Hogwarts- particularly during the sorting would have consequences on who he would become. Like when he got caught stealing from his father's money chest there were repercussions. Now he would be in control. Andromeda took up his hand and patted it tenderly- she understood, and she knew that he understood now too.

"Well, this is sweet and all but they are handing out gifts inside and I was told to come _fetch_ you."

Sirius turned to see Narcissa standing there. She was lithe, her hair flowed down her back, ending in slim curls just below the curve of her lower back. She wore a deep emerald green dress that fitted her slight figure and flared from the hips. Her matching green heels only made her taller. Her painted face and dark gaze were turned to him intently. Expensive jewelry glittered from all angles. "My _young_ darling misfit cousin, don't take advice from black sheep, they tend to lead you astray." As Sirius stood Narcissa laid a bony hand on his shoulder. "We all know that _everyone inside_ is trying to keep you out of danger and help you be as strong as you can be." She gave him what felt like a condescending smile, ignoring her sister.

Sirius shrugged off her hand, and looked behind him. Andromeda had taken up his earlier fascination with shoes. Her face was drawn. He waited for her to look up and when she did he gave her his bravest smile. Narcissa made a rude noise over his shoulder and he pretended not to hear it. "Together?" he smiled, genuinely this time. He stuck out his elbow hoping she'd take it.

Andromeda's face bloomed like a daisy and she tucked her fingers into his proffered elbow.

Sirius turned towards the French double doors. On their way past Narcissa Sirius locked eyes with her, and promptly stuck out his tongue.

He knew that he had a choice to make, either alienate his family completely or lead himself astray into a world he didn't know much about. Hogwarts was becoming less and less of an escape. He was walking into a chess game he knew he would lose. No matter what he did someone would tell him it was the wrong thing to do.

This would be his chance to choose who he wanted to be, what he wanted his life to be like. _He couldn't screw this up._

_SKM_

Reviewers receive a visit from Dobby, sweetmeats included!


	3. Chapter 3: Peter

REVISED October 16, 2007

LupinandHarry you rock! Thank you for the reviews, this one is for you!!!!!

Foy: Thank you for your review! Sweetmeats are another fancy word for pastries, honeyed treats ect… kind of like how minced meat doesn't really have meat in it anymore :D

Thank you to my red headed, busty, blushing muse. I could (and often do) kiss you all over ;D

Sorry for the delay everyone, Peter is NOT an easy character to get a grip on (sneaky rat.)

I'm trying to be as true to his character as possible without making him hate-worthy – after all the others saw something in him didn't they?

**The Maurauders Epic: The Marauders and the Rumored Truth**

_**Chapter 3:**__ To Stand Out_

It all felt so normal. There was nothing different from this day than any other he'd had. As per usual he was alone, the subway was just as dirty as it usually was, the people on the Tube were distant and wouldn't make eye contact to a young man alone, and the noise of the tunnel speeding by and the metal on metal of the tracks was grating. His feet still didn't quite hit the floor as he sat, his back straight, on the cold metal chair. The Tube wasn't packed, nor was it empty; it was just another Sunday morning on the subway.

Except today wasn't a normal day. He wasn't going somewhere normal. His suitcase – a _trunk_ his father had called it, wasn't normal, the clothing in the trunk, _robes_, were not normal. Peter Pettigrew gnawed on a fingernail, he hoped that where he was going that trunks and robes and wands and cauldrons were normal, he really really hoped that his father hadn't suddenly developed a nasty funny bone.

He'd only found out two weeks ago that his father, Mr. Daniel Pettigrew, had decided that his son would be going to Hogwarts after all. His father had kept the letter under lock and key, Peter had only seen it briefly before his father had hidden it away quickly. Peter never asked what it was or why he couldn't have it, he knew if he did his father would only destroy it.

If the punishment for asking would have only been a beating, Peter would have accepted that gladly, but not getting the answers he craved, that was unbearable.

Two weeks ago his father had sat him down after work. Peter had chewed his lip into a bloody mess while he waited for his father to slowly pour himself an expensive brandy, light up a thick, gold foil wrapped cigar, and sit facing him in their family's tiny den. Mr. Pettigrew had puffed and sipped for nearly a quarter of an hour, intently sizing up his pudgy, watery eyed son. "I'd always hoped it would be Issac" he'd said, "or even Benjamin."

Peter had kept his mouth shut, he was going to get answers, but he didn't want to incur his father's wrath until after he'd gotten the answers, then he would ask for it – but not before.

Father went quiet, eyeing him again. Peter's eyes focused on the brandy, he'd never tasted brandy before, it was the one type of liquor his father would notice missing.

"Because I thought it would be one of them, I have the tuition saved up." His father continued, mumbling his words, his eyes now trailing over the bare walls. "But it had to be you, didn't it? If you fail, you owe me back every penny, every single one, if you fail."

Peter nodded, his father acknowledged the nod with a twist of the brandy, neither made eye contact. "You've been a lump until now, no backbone, hiding behind Mother's skirts. A nancy, you've always struck me as one, but until your balls drop we won't know will we?"

Peter forced himself not to roll his eyes. His father didn't know anything about him. Peter hated listening to the man lecture, his words were so crude and unrefined. Peter was ashamed to say a word in front of his father, lest he confuse the man.

"Here's your ticket, my old school things are up in the attic, everything else I've ordered and you can pick up at the post office tomorrow." With that his father put out his cigar, with half left over, and left the room. Peter opened his mouth to say something, anything, to incur some kind of emotion from the man, but before he could form a syllable the door slammed. Sitting alone, in the near dark, he considered the encounter, he'd never seen his father look so… so….so defeated.

Peter gathered up the facts: tuition meant a school of some kind. His father's school things meant that unlike Issac, Danielle and Benjamin Peter would be going to a private, exclusive place. The fact that he was the first Pettigrew child to go to this school meant something. He was never special, dad favored Issac who would inherit the family business, Danielle was 'daddy's princess', and Benjamin was gifted. Peter was told on numerous occasions that he'd been an accident, that the number four was unlucky.

Suddenly Peter was the special one.

The Tube lurched to a halt, passengers shifted, some left, others arrived, a lady took a seat two down from Peter. She offered him a shy, quiet smile before pulling out a novel from her handbag.

Peter's trip to the attic to uncover his father's old school things had been a shock. Moving pictures, a biting book, long black robes, a cauldron, a box labeled 'potions kit', and all wrapped up in a huge trunk that looked like it came from Henry Morgans hold. Confused, he'd pulled out the ticket his father had handed him, thinking it had to have been a joke.

His father didn't joke with Peter.

The ticked had read platform 9 ¾. There was no such thing; Peter knew this from the trips he'd taken to visit his granddad with mum over the summer holidays. There was no platform 9 ¾.

He'd pointed this out to his father and received a beating. Of course, that wasn't all bad, mum had taken time out of caring for the triplets to help sooth his hurts and tell him how much she loved him. She'd run a cold cloth over his bruises and murmur sweetness in his ear as he rested his throbbing head in her lap. There was no better feeling.

Now, sitting on his cold subway seat Peter wondered how he'd find this strange platform and how many secrets his father had kept from all of them. The Tube lurched to a stop and he realized that the adventure his father had started him on was about to start. He picked up one end of his ridiculously oversized, over packed trunk. Dragging it through the subway doors, down the steps, and along pavement Peter began wishing he'd taken time to install wheels on the blasted thing.

Taking the escalator up to the ground floor, directly into Kings Cross Station, Peter made his way in the direction of platforms nine and ten. He passed all sorts of regular, normal looking people. He didn't see his father, or his brothers as he approached, he felt safe enough to wager that this was not a prank of his father's devising. Platform nine came into sight, and beyond it was number ten. Mums pulled their kids away from the little boy with his big trunk dragging behind him.

Eyes open for anything even slightly unusual Peter was checking behind him when a man appeared out of nowhere. Peter stumbled over the man's foot before he could help himself. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to trod on you!" he exclaimed, gazing up at the man's tired, unshaven face. The man's eyes quickly traveled his length, then his trunk and rested back on his eyes. Peter felt nearly violated.

"Do you know how to get to the platform? The train is leaving soon."

Peter stared up at the man, there were no trains in the stations at the moment. "Do you mean you know about…" Peter took out his ticket.

The man nodded and grabbed Peters trunk, Peter let him take it and thanked the man, considering his queer nature, he'd never met someone so short spoken. The man began walking towards the barrier separating platforms nine and ten. Peter's heart gave a flutter when the man didn't change his path, but headed right for the brick wall. He felt a hand grab his sleeve, he took his last look at the world as he knew it, and disappeared into oblivion.

The other side of the wall was milling with people of all shapes and sizes, most dressed in long black robes, some with Halloween-type hats, others wore terribly mismatched street clothes and ridiculous looking outfits. Most were tall & older looking. The big red train brought back a wave of childhood memories of putting together a track around the Christmas Tree.

Without pausing the man who had helped him grabbed his trunk and began pushing through the crowd. Peter rushed behind him, taking advantage of the part in the rush of bodies to wiggle his way towards the train. A sharp whistle erupted from the front of the train followed closely by a shout of 'ALL ABOARD'.

_I'm NOT aboard yet! Not everyone is 'all aboard!'_ Peter picked up his pace. When they reached the nearest door Peter's newest acquaintance turned personal body guard threw his luggage through the open doors and turned to Peter. "Hurry up then!" he didn't sound mean like his father did when he said those words, just concerned. Peter picked his way around the man quickly and jumped up onto the stairs. He turned around to say thank you and faced a crowed of people, none of them familiar. He saw the back of the man's head disappearing through the crowd. "THANK YOU!" he shouted over the ruckus of hundreds of people, parents, Peter realized belatedly, but the man didn't seem to hear.

Beneath his feet the train began chugging slowly and the man vanished into the mass of bodies. Peter looked at his heavy trunk at his feet as he realized that without that man's help, he never would have made it onto the Train at all.

Briefly he let his mind wander to the beating he would have received had he gone home telling his father he'd missed the train. Thinking of his mother's soothing afterwards made him smile. He wondered if she'd write him now that he was their first son to leave home for school – or for anything for that matter. Isabel Pettigrew had promised to send him treats and letters when she had time, but with Mark and the triplets he knew in his heart she wouldn't have time.

Peter was alone, totally and utterly alone. There was no one here to tell him what to do, how to act, who to be, what to say or not say…. He was free to be… whoever he wanted. He didn't have to fade into the background until someone decided to pick on him here. He could be a bully, like Issac, a drama queen (king, he corrected himself) like Danielle, or a show off like Benjamin.

For once he could stand out.

With that thought, Peter grabbed his trunk, which suddenly didn't seem so heavy, and made his way to the nearest compartment to start making friends. After all, there was a good and a bad way to stand out, Peter intended to start this thing off properly, and to do that, you needed good, cool friends.

_SKM_

Okay, my muse and I are at odds, so please, please help me out. Because this is titled The Marauders Epic, she doesn't want narratives from Lily's, Narcissa's or Snape's POV. However as readers you are entitled to a vote, because one way or another I can write it in or leave it out. So, aside from my devious plot to receive more feedback (you heartless audience) I'm leaving it in your (obviously incapable of reviewing) hands. Do I sound a little bitter? My bad ;) So what shall it be? Yes or no to outside the Marauders circle narrative? Please let me know xoxo

P.S. All reviewers get a Cameo let me know what house you're in ;D I cannot promise, however, that you won't get pranked on. Please don't say something like 'I'm a Gryffindor Girl in the Marauders Year' I need to be able to keep my plot :D If you have a prank idea, please pass it along :D


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